


a descent follows

by RhysennM



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Biospecialist - Freeform, Dark, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2459969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhysennM/pseuds/RhysennM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is blinding, when the moment comes; maybe that's just because you can't see anything. You can only go by feel, so you reach across the small space between you and you touch him. He doesn't breathe, just looks at you like he's never seen you before. You can feel it. You have been very very still, and very silent.<br/>No one may hear. None of them will know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a descent follows

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr promt: biospecialist, dark au, virginity, romeo and juliet [or pls slytherin/gryffindor if you're part of hp fandom some dark pre-war].  
> Ok, I fail miserably at trying hard, sorry. Title from William Carlos Williams' "The Descent". For my muse Aliena as always.

It is blinding, when the moment comes; maybe that's just because you can't see anything. You can only go by feel, so you reach across the small space between you and you  _touch_  him. He doesn't breathe, just  _looks_  at you like he's never seen you before. You can feel it. You have been very very still, and very silent. No one may hear. None of them will know.

It is dark, and his eyes gleam at you impossibly. In the autumn, his pupils are dilated all the time, huge and black, like they could swallow you. This autumn it's different, because you keep looking anyway.

Your throat is so dry, and you think his eyes would frighten you if you did not know them as well as you do. He sits down on his bed, his breath the only sound in the room, because you are holding yours.

The bed squeaks loudly, and you breathe out.

His eyes are still gleaming, and his fingers reaching, they must've been, because right then they begin touching. Just a brush, the tiniest sensation of soft dryness sliding across your thigh. You feel it because you couldn't not. Your nightgown isn't really there, but his eyes are.

You are fifteen. Fifteen.

You'd looked yourself in the mirror, and you've seen the bony ridges of your hips, and the way your hair goes all the way down across your nipples if you brush it forward. It hides your eyes that way. Your stomach had become a bit curved as the summer wore on, but your knees are still bony, and so is the rest of you. You felt impatient, looking so closely. No one had touched you, and maybe no one ever will. No one will even look at you.

You had to start now. Something had to change. You remember mum saying something about how boys and girls always grow at night. You'd thought that was funny, like maybe your body didn't want you to catch it, like maybe you wouldn't turn into someone else if you were  _watching_. Someone taller and more feminine, just different. And you want to be different. Right?

He's shaking.

You notice this, but you don't think about it. You can't seem to look at him anymore, so you close your eyes just when you hear his breath catch. Maybe it's because your hand had moved all those seconds ago, slipping down his chest to his stomach, while you were trying to distinguish his pupils from the darkness surrounding you both.

Your finger had brushed his nipple slightly. You don't think about it, just keep going, but you can still feel it poking a bit against the pad of your ring finger, the one you wear his birthday gift on. His nipple had been so small and hard, so unlike yours, which is always puckered and large and awfully brown.

You're thinking about your nipples and his, together. And it's a ridiculous sort of comparison for a lot of reasons, and normally you'd just giggle, but that seems wrong right now. It would all fall apart if you started to giggle, especially about  _that._

He'd given the ring to you so simply, just thrust it in your hand unwrapped. He'd grinned and said that it was better than what Fitz had gotten you, wasn't it. And it was. But this was going to be better yet.

You are fifteen now.

He laughs like he's embarrassed, except he pushes you down on his bed. You're all prickly with something that reminds you of pain, except it's not. You don't know what it is, but you think maybe he does. He's only two years older but he keeps talking about all the things he's done, and you think he doesn't tell you everything.

It doesn't matter, because you'll make him show you.

He's buried his cold nose in your shoulder, and he's just laying on top of you now, shaking. He's heavy and you feel your breath coming unevenly, almost like you're drowning, but there's nothing to drown in except him. You're already so close, it seems like there isn't a lot of room to be closer together, but there is. You don't want to move him yet.

"Simmons," he groans, and you flinch. Why did he have to say your name? You're not Simmons. Not even Jemma. You're not his enemy now, you can't be, not in this - his - bed, doesn't he see that? What is wrong with him?

You don't answer, and he's panting, his hands fisting at your sides, pulling at your nightgown. You wonder if he's just going to lie there until he smothers you. This wouldn't be worth it, then. She's not afraid, so why would he be then?

It is so sudden, when he slips a leg in between yours, balancing on his knees like he'd done this before. Like he'd done this before a thousand times. He doesn't call your name anymore, but it's not like you can forget. He smells like Grant, how could you have ever missed that even for a second? He smells more familiar than Fitz, than anyone except maybe your mother. Right now, he's squeezing your forearm almost painfully, but you think you like it. As long as he doesn't whisper your name as some guilty pray, you love it.

You feel a bit breathless, but he's not crushing you anymore. You arch against him without thinking, feeling the softness of your covers beneath you, the crinkle of your hair tickling your cheeks, the warm wet place where his mouth is, against your neck.

"Sosoftsosoft," he mutters, rubbing at your arm. You completely forget to hate it, the way he _speaks_  without asking, the way he  _smells_ , because he's pushing against you a little, just a little. You don't know what it is, but it feels like you're falling in place.

Is this what you've been waiting for? You think maybe, maybe, and you bite your lip as hard as you can. Your chest feels tight, like something is going to burst out of it painfully, splatter all across you both. It won't hurt though, you know that.

He's never going to look at you like that anymore. He can't seem to lift his head, so heavy there against your shoulder, but his hand is moving, brushing past your hips and getting closer to the heated place between you. Your legs had fallen open somehow, and you're shaking too, waiting. You're just waiting for it. Waiting for him like you always do. Pathetic? You don't care.

You can feel the tensing of his thighs against yours, the way his muscles are moving. Oh, he has such wonderful muscles. He's quite still, but really he's as restless as you are. What is he waiting for? You frown, wishing you understood. You know you wanted this, still want this but you have to know he wants this, _needs this too_.

His body is everywhere, you think fuzzy.

Grant.... The heat of his body and his name ran through and through you, scorching your veins, turning your bones to glass. "Think but don't speak." You know the game.

You think you know what it is, but you can't even think it at the same time. You can feel the familiar sensation of trickling warmth becoming liquid between your legs, and you're impatient, beyond nervousness. It's too late for that, but no matter what, you can't it. Not this time, not _again_. You don't come here to make him feel more guilty. It's in the past.

And then his cock is flush against you, pushing, and you gasp so loud it feels like a scream. He exhales raggedly. You know he's nervous too. Good, he should be. You didn't really think he knew all that stuff, you just wanted....

Trying to concentrate beyond the clenching inside you, but it's too difficult and you give up.

You push against him harder, arching into the warm shaft slowly moving inside you. You're tingling all over, and down there you're virtually a drum. Your heart is beating in your throat so fast you think you'll have to swallow it soon. With no barrier between you, you had imagined you would be able to feel every ridge, every vein. In reality, all you were aware of was how incredibly hot he was, how hard, moving inside you. You spent a few moments lost in sensation, trying to catalogue every breath, every heartbeat, every nanosecond that passed between you two. Too soon, but not nearly soon enough, you felt his hand slip deftly between your bodies, unerringly targeting your clit.

"Good?" he grunted.

Unable to speak, you gave one sharp nod.

Then, in an instant, his hips stilled, even as his fingers picked up speed, or so it seemed. All you really knew was that you had wrapped your legs round his hips, and when you regained your common sense, you were calling his name.

'Wrong-wrong-wrong.' Bells in your head. Stupid, Jemma, how stupid.

It must have shown on your face, because as soon as his eyes locked on yours, something happened, and his open, easy smile dropped like a stone. He came after a few wild thrusts and collapsed on you.

Your body bows and flexes beneath his in strange ways all without your consent, and you think you might be crying, because something warm has just trickled down the side of your nose and your eyes are burning, but it's indescribable, like everything you didn't know you wanted.

You think he might be crying too; but you know he isn't. Suddenly, you're scared. It's eating you whole and you shiver. He's heavy on top of you just like he'd been at first, but now it feels _different_ , wonderful and frightening and _so_   _different_ , and now you aren't afraid to lift your arms and wrap around him. You hope it's all right.

His head is pillowed on your breasts, but they're not much of a pillow. You know he can probably feel your ribs beneath him, the heavy pounding of your heart under all the skin and bone, the way it sounds, which is probably different than it had ever sounded before. Maybe he can feel the way your skin seems liquid, the way it's buzzing, stretched too tight across your body, the way it seems to want to melt right off you so that you're so naked you've nothing to open for him anymore. He's lying on your chest but barely makes contact, hardly touching you and you realize - he's closed off. Again.

You're so empty and wired tight, it's like you can feel that electricity, that thing that is supposed to give power to Muggle things; it's like you can feel it racing up and down inside you with nowhere to go. You can feel it in your heart, in your bones, in your _teeth_. You clench them tighter, but it doesn't help.

Maybe it's not electricity though. Maybe it's _**magic.**_

With a start, you realize you're kissing him, kissing all around his head, leaning lower to kiss his eyes and nose, just kissing him like he's a boy or a man and neither of you know which, but it doesn't quite matter right this moment.

You're not going to tell him it's all right, so you just brush the damp hair from his forehead. Hair much darker than yours. And kiss him once more, properly this time. On the lips.

He's laid beside you for several minutes, tucked against you in the space between you and the edge of the bed. His eyelashes flutter the littlest bit against the bare skin of your arm, like tiny moths. The belief that this isn't really - _you_ \- and really - _him_ \- had ebbed away completely, and somewhere along the line it had become Grant, your lover, your enemy, beginning to doze next to you because you couldn't fall asleep.

That sparking beneath your skin follows you into your dreams.

Ward wakes up and leaves unnoticed. Like any gentleman would, though you know he's not one.

You're still lost in the dream where you're moving in sync. When you open your eyes all you can see is bottle green baldachin above you. His room. A room of the Head Boy. _Your Head Boy_. You breathe deeply and smile, burying yourself deeper under the sheets. His sheets. His hell-expensive wonderful sheets.

Door opens and so does your heart. You can't stop thinking 'he came back ~~to me~~ '. How very stupid of you but that thought keeps running crazy circles in your head. You lie still, ready to get your robe from the floor and slip away. But then his voice cuts the silence.

"I hope you're very hungry because I almost lost my arm while sneaking in the kitchen. Fucking elves." 

_Fucking elves._

It's the most romantic thing you've ever heard. 

Rude. Ridiculously adorable.  _P e r f e c t._

You can't help but smile.


End file.
